


The Best-Laid Plans (II)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [238]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, F/M, Gay Sex, Heaven, Kissing, M/M, Surprise Ending, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 01:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12048834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A three-parter to finish, and it ends – well, where else but in a barn? Dean and Castiel are back together, and things are set for a happy and peaceful future for everyone.Er......





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



2008

Dean Winchester was not afraid. Nope, he was not afraid. It was just cold in that goddam barn. What sort of thing was this 'Castiel' that they had gone and summoned, anyway? And the building shaking like that with all those weird flashing lights – not helping. 

Not helping with the cold, he meant! 

“Yer' afraid?”

Bobby's voice was unnaturally loud in the empty building. Dean did not jump; it was an uncontrollable reflex action. It was, dammit, and his surrogate father could stop smirking right this minute! 

Fortunately for someone's journey up a certain river in north-east Africa, the barricaded doors chose that moment to slowly give way, and in walked.... what the ever-loving fuck? A freakin' tax accountant? 

Dean blinked hard, but nope, it was still walking slowly towards them, the most un-menacing thing imaginable. More than most, Dean Winchester had seen plenty of strange shit in his life (and death), but this one took the pie.

The two hunters both raised their guns and let whatever the hell the thing was have it. The bullets hit it alright and tore holes in the creeper trench-coat, but the thing just kept coming, seemingly unaffected. Dean gulped and reached for Ruby's knife as the... whatever the hell it was slowly walked around him, staring curiously at him as it did so. Its eyes were unnaturally blue, the hunter thought.

“Who are you?” Dean demanded, shuddering with adrenaline and absolutely nothing else.

“I'm the one who gripped you tight, and raised you from perdition”, came the growly response. Seriously, did the guy/thing/whatever gargle with rocks or something?

Some distant memory danced along the edge of Dean's mind, refusing to come into focus. The guy/thing/whatever sure looked familiar from somewhere or other. It was damn annoying.

“Yeah?” the hunter said scornfully. “Thanks for that!”

He felt the knife weigh heavy in his grasp, and reckoned he could get the thing in the chest with one quick blow. The guy/thing/whatever had his head tilted to one side as he continued to stare through those impossibly blue eyes. 

“What's your name?” Dean demanded. 

“Castiel”, came back the reply, and now the low growl was also irritatingly familiar. “I am an Angel of the Lord.”

That deep voice. A foggy city. A room with big windows, lots of old stuff in it and a roaring fire. A ceremonial sword hanging above a desk. The smell of ivory soap and the faint tang of barley-sugar. A violin, and a picture-frame of someone wearing medieval clothing - a someone who was definitely him. A comfortable-looking chair and a ri-fuckin'-diculous woollen hat on a hat-stand. Home. 

_Home?_ Dean was sure he'd never been near this place. Well, fairly sure.

The hunter shuddered as the memory shifted. A feeling of emptiness, far, far worse than any pain he had ever known. Then a sudden completeness, as if part of him had returned. And the feeling that his whole body was going to explode with happiness, this same figure before towering over him as he and this guy/thing/whatever.... 

Dean's eyes widened. Holy cow, he'd done _that_?

The memory shifted again. A small, country cottage. An old black car standing outside. Fields running down to a small village in the valley below, and a soft, gentle breeze making the smoke from the chimney drift slightly. Bees buzzing in the garden out back, and some rat-thing running frantically on its wheel in a cage. A large, comfortable double bed, and a man in it. A naked man.....

Dean gulped. It had all come back to him. Holy! Cow!

“Cas?” he said cautiously.

“Son”, Bobby said, “why're you calling him..... what in tarnation?”

The old man stared in astonishment. His adoptive son, Dean Winchester, was not only holding but kissing this.... thing. A man, or at least something wearing a man. And Dean was.... euw, kissing it! Kissing it damn thoroughly and all!

Maybe it was some sort of new tactic the kid was employing, because the guy/thing/whatever tensed for a moment, and then briefly pulled back to emit the sort of noise that only ever came out of the mouths of people on those trashy TV movies that Bobby never ever watched of an afternoon, whatever anyone said. And then – euw again! - the guy/thing/whatever was kissing the hunter right back!

“Dean.”

“Dean!”

“Goddamit, Dean!”

The hunter waved loosely in the direction of the old man, and finally pulled back. He had the same sort of dopey grin on his face that Bobby only ever usually saw when he came back from..... nononononono, so not going down that road!

“Later, Bobby!” Dean called, smirking with evident satisfaction. “Me and Cas here, we got some serious catching up to do.”

“Twenty-nine years, seven months, twenty-four days, nineteen hours, thirty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds without sex!” the thing growled, looking positively feral despite the outfit. "It's been way too long!"

And then he effortlessly scooped the hunter into its arms and strode out of the barn with Dean.... God help him, Dean Winchester giggling like a schoolgirl? 

Bobby just stared after them, dumbstruck. Had they all shifted to some set of parallel dimensions without him noticing or something? He instinctively downed the entire contents of his hip-flask, and wished he had access to the rest of the bottle back home. 

The liquor store was probably still open. If not, he could always break in.....


	2. Chapter 2

“Um...... _darling?”_

God tensed. The last time His wife had used _that_ tone of voice, it had been to inform him that She may, just possibly, may sort of possibly maybe have possibly started some sort of revolution-thingy in France. Maybe. Possibly. 

Him above, what had She done _this_ time? He took a deep breath and braced for the worst.

“Yes, dearest?” He said, not panicking in any way, shape or form. Maybe there was a loophole in that promise that He had made about no more apocalyptic floods....

“You know you said to take those precautions against....” She waved her arms vaguely in the air, “against..... um, you know what?”

God looked at Her anxiously. He was God; of course He knew damn well what! With those two idiots getting back together, they had both foreseen that... you know what could be a real danger. Ever since the original design had led to the nephilim, angels had been redrawn to be perfect warriors, with absolutely no need whatsoever to stick any of their body parts into.... well, humans. It could not happen. 

Except now there was Castiel. The ultimate one-angel disaster area. God had a Very Bad Feeling.

“Yes?” He said warily.

“And that we had to make sure that our angels, no matter how cute or lovable or adorable or darling or sweet or.....”

“Dearest!” 

He noted with alarm the large box of Thornton's chocolates that had suddenly appeared next to Her. Their most expensive brand; those only ever appeared when She was really stressed. Oh Him, how bad was this?

“That they did not.... impregnate humans”, She managed, “because the results were always.... a little problematic?”

He suspected/feared that that was 'a little problematic' as in a certain lump of ice that had been 'a little problematic' for the “Titanic”.

“Yes?” He said, silently wishing that He himself had someone to pray to at times like this.

“Well”, She said carefully, “I did _exactly_ what you said, dear. I ensured one hundred per cent that our cute little honey-pie down there could not get his beloved hunter pregnant with a nephilim.”

God stared hard at Her. He just _knew_ that there was a catch in there somewhere.

“But?” He pressed. 

From a gently rocking black behemoth of a car a long way below, there suddenly came a long drawn out pleasured moan that ran through way too many octaves, and had both of them raising their eyebrows. Several angels in Heaven grumpily handed over money to their smirking colleagues.

And the noise went on. 

And on. 

And on.

Mrs. God reddened. God went pale.

“Our son is......'batting'?” He said weakly. 

She nodded, and wolfed down another chocolate. The moaning was working its way back up the scale again and, if anything, was getting even louder. 

“Me above!”


	3. Chapter 3

It was still going on when God came back from breakfast at Heaven's Golden Corral. How His wife could sit there, munching chocolates and working away at those stories that She loved to write, He alone knew. Those fluffy pink and yellow ear-muffs were surely ineffectual?

It was still going on when His son Lucifer dropped by for a visit after lunch, smirking far too loudly for His Father's liking. God pointedly ignored the fact that the boy was one of several to place a bet on the book that His wife was now running. If anything, the moaning was getting even louder.

It was still going on late afternoon, and even Heavenly sound-proofing seemed to be ineffective against it. God just knew that the other angels were bound to start asking awkward questions once it was all over; He would have to have the Talk many times over. How did Castiel always make such a mess of things?

After 9 hours, 18 minutes and 4.1 seconds precisely, the terrible noise from below ended abruptly – to be followed by an equally terrible silence, and then the sound of an all-too-familiar voice saying, “uh, Mother, Father? I, uh, may have a small problem.....”.

+~+~+

Apparently depriving an angel (or at least a Castiel) of sex with his True Mate for nearly thirty years tended to result in a not insignificant build-up of 'pressure'. In fact, quite a lot of 'pressure'. So it was not really their son's fault he had forgotten the minor detail that his True Mate was human again, and therefore possessed of a body that was not really able to cope with an angel-induced orgasm lasting nearly half a day.

To placate His wife (and because He would start getting cavities if She went off on all that 'cute' and 'adorable' stuff again), God generously decided to bring Dean Winchester back to life, even if He rather suspected the hunter would have been quite proud to have had 'Death through a nine-hour orgasm' on his headstone. God even (narrowly) refrained from rolling His eyes while so doing, though He made a mental note to add better sound-proofing around the cottage for later. Honestly, why was His eternal existence so difficult at times?

And why was His wife reading a book on 'How To Be A Good Grandparent'? That sort of thing was impossible when the angel was... well, 'batting rather than pitching'.

Wasn't it?

“I wonder if I can order this in blue?” Mrs. God mused.

“Oh flip!” 

THE END - OR IS IT THE BEGINNING?


End file.
